In this issue
Toronto’s anti-noise movement began in the 1930s. Ever since, noise policing has been inextricably linked with issues of race, class, and power.
The constant beeping, talking, and overhead paging aren’t just an annoyance—they can lead to delirium, longer recovery times, and even sleeping pill addiction.
As someone who’s half-deaf, I’ve always moved between two Torontos—the surface city and the muted, shadowy one beneath it.
Fights around Toronto’s unofficial music venues reveal a stark reality—there is noise this city values, and noise it doesn’t.
Overlapping Zoom calls, fights between siblings, enraging neighbourhood pool parties—the maddening, unending sounds of a stay-at-home crisis.
In this issue
What a bus route reveals about race, class, and social vulnerability during a pandemic.
We don't usually think of Toronto as a travel destination. But when the tourism industry imploded overnight, the effects rippled across the city.
When my father died, heading downtown was a way to escape my grief. Now, under lockdown, I see him everywhere.
COVID has amplified social issues that have long existed at Jane and Finch. It’s also revealed the resiliency of the community.
For years, I’d been craving the community and intimacy of small-town life. Then the pandemic hit and I found that it had been around me the whole time.
For the millions of Torontonians with family overseas, COVID has meant not just navigating our own lockdowns, but living through theirs as well.
I never thought I’d own a car. Now I’m stockpiling groceries and driving through the zoo, locked safe inside my vehicle like the Pope.
The ferry is empty. Beavers and mallards rustle through the bush. Without visitors, life on the Toronto Island is quiet and peaceful. It all feels terribly wrong.